I had a challenge from the man in the mobile library when I was bemoaning the fact that rhyming poetry was unfashionable. ” No-one writes rhyming verse any more,” I said and then discovered at least two authors who are doing it successfully. He replied, ” Nobody has written a poem about a mobile library,” How could I resist?
You don’t need a flying carpet or a ship that sails the sea
For every kind of magic’s in the Mobile Library.
Let your imagination feed on tales from yesterday
Or solve a crime or find a love to wash your cares away.
You’d like a book with big, bold print? There’s plenty here to take
And picture books and paperbacks a thirst for knowledge slake.
Or in the Land of Might have Been, when you’ve a book to try
Give your imagination wings and, as a wordbird, fly.
I have just put my long political poem on my pages. It still came out double spaced but never mind. Those who want to read it can do so and I won’t have taken up another post.
I often claim I’m not afraid of anything that Nature made.
I let the little bees buzz by; I gently brush away each fly.
I watch the wasp approach the jam and quickly cover, while I can.
The dustpan’s great for the wood louse – I rather like the tiny mouse!
But pity me, and do not laugh – I’m scared of spiders in the bath!
The clerk and the dairymaid went to live in a terrace in grim Southall town.
They had little money but lived with his Mummy, two girls and a terrier, brown.
The house had a garden, a small wooden shed and a lilac tree I liked to climb,
A thin, scruffy lawn and a vegetable patch ( plus a top bunk I wanted as mine.)
My sister was younger and timid, back then. I told her such stories for fun
About pirates and dragons and things that go bump in the night – although there were none.
The tales father read were of Winnie the Pooh, Just So Stories, poems and more
Like The Tree that Sat Down and The Stream that Stood Still, with witches and magic galore.
Our Junior School was in Beaconsfield Road, with the gasometer for a view
And a playground for girls and another for boys, something that, now, wouldn’t do.
And yet all that dreaming, the stories and games, the dressing up we did for fun
Left me with a legacy I wouldn’t change- made the child the adult I’ve become.
What a great start to the week. I gave two talks on ” My Life and Works” and sold five books at each. The audience at these social gatherings are always so kind and friendly that they are a joy to do, even if I do have a half hour walk to a train station pulling my trolley. My fault for refusing to take the car!
It is always interesting to discover which part of the talk interests them most and it is usually the fact that I used to tutor dyslexics. It is amazing how many people tell me of someone in their family with the same problem and the stories about help or lack of it depending on where they live.
Tonight I am taking some poems to a folk club as they sometimes allow me to recite.Hopefully by Saturday my printer will be operating and I can start advertising our next Charity Gig. Pity I’ll miss Crawley Book Fair but I do like my annual weekend in a hotel and this time it’s Cardiff.
Sweet September starts my year as Summer’s blossoms fade away
Long, lazy days come to an end and work replaces holiday.
Autumn is time to start anew, to see the year with eager eyes
To learn, to change, prepare to share the future’s festival of surprise.
October’s when we start to climb to chilly Winter’s highest peak;
Three months of fire and feast and fun give us the energy we seek.
Another year, with new resolve – we pause, then slide down Winter’s slope
Forgetting when the seeds were sown for Spring’s fresh meadowland of hope.
I decided not to enter the competition but post it here, instead.)
As I am not writing a novel at present I thought I might try some competitions. The one in the Writing Magazine looked promising. We needed to write an autumn poem that didn’t seem hackneyed ( No mists and mellow fruitfulness) When I was a schoolteacher we used to ask the children to think of lots of words that reminded them of autumn and then turn them into a poem. Naturally we had loads of red and golden leaves, along with bonfire night and getting ready for Christmas.
I looked at the winning poems in other competitions and found that free verse, without rhyme, usually won first prize. OK – I thought, I’ll try that. So I did and the fourth line rhymed with the second line in spite of my efforts. What should I do – write in sentences and then split them into phrases or give up and write the kind of verse I usually compose? I forced myself not to use rhyming couplets.
Serious poets would only sneer.
If I don’t enter the competition
I’ll post it somewhere here.